Inside Out

by Lia Riley

“I know you’ll kick ass in your interview.”

  “And I know it will be a great start to e-mail Adie. You were really upset. This might help.”

  “You won’t mind?”

  I search myself, but to my relief there are no lingering feelings of jealousy. “What did you tell me after seeing Tanner?”

  “He was your past and I was your future.”

  “Exactly. Why should it be any different for me?”

  “Okay, you have a deal.” He checks his watch. “I should clear out and give you some space. Doubt you’ll want an audience.”

  “Thanks.” I’m grateful he understands I’m not kicking him out of here. I hold up my hand in a high-five gesture. “Here’s to facing our fears!”

  He glances from my hand to me. “Really?”

  It sounds like it’s a struggle for him not to roll his eyes and tell me the gesture is oh, so American.

  “Really.” He’s with an American. We eat apple pie and we love to high-five. “Slip me some skin, dude.”

  “What to the ever, dude.” He gives me the world’s most reluctant high five, but hey it’s a start. I can work with that. “I haven’t forgotten about Yosemite either.”

  My molars grind against each other. “Our crazy-ass hike along the cliffs of insanity?”

  His puzzled frown reminds me I still haven’t forced him to watch The Princess Bride. “You mean Tenaya Canyon?”

  “Yes, Bermuda Triangle of the Sierras. A canyon of curses. The place you think would make a lovely stroll.”

  “What were you just saying about facing fears?”

  “Oh, crap. Okay.” I hold up my hands like I’m under arrest. “You got me, Officer. I’m a life coach hypocrite, guilty as charged. Do as I say, not as I do. Yada yada yada.”

  “All I need is you.”

  “For what?”

  “Bloody hell, Captain,” he says with a chuckle. “If I were stuck on a desert island, you’d be entertainment enough.” I don’t miss the fact Bran reaches out and gives Persimmon a behind-the-ear scratch. He can front like he’s a grumpy curmudgeon all he wants. I know the truth. I tackle dive his abdomen, and involuntary laughter breaks out of him. My guy has a sensitive underbelly.

  “Now go on, get.” I plant a kiss on his cheek.

  “Fine, but I’m taking the pussy with me.” He scoops Persimmon, who regards me with a look of smug contempt. But cats always look like that. Maybe it’s thinking about naps on a sunbeam couch cushion, hard to say. It could also be contemplating mass murder.

  “Pervert.”

  He dips into a gallant bow. “You dig it.”

  “The sad thing is I really kind of do.”

  He shifts the cat’s sizeable weight. “You know you’ve got this interview.”

  “I’m faking my confidence like you wouldn’t believe. If I were an animal, I’d be a duck. Serene on the surface. Paddling like crazy beneath.”

  “What are you scared about? At the core?”

  “Messing up. What if I say the wrong thing?” I run a hand through my hair, muss it up in the back. “Ruin everything.”

  “Do you know what makes you amazing?”

  I throw up my hands. “Let me see…could it be my endless navel-gazing?”

  Bran rocks on his heels and smiles, even though his eyes are dead serious. “The fact you feel the fear and do it anyway.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bran

  Talia’s laugh is muffled upstairs, a good sign. I know she’ll ace the interview. All she needs to do is be her amazing self. I understand why she wants me to reach out to Adie. I should have checked in with her ages ago. After our brief reconnection a year ago in Melbourne I got lost in Talia Time. Talia Time is a whole lot better than the shithouse guilt of Adie’s memory. After Jessie and Wyatt, I had a harsh reminder that I need to patch some holes in my heart. So I sit on the living room couch, starting and stopping an e-mail.

  Dear Adie too formal

  Hello Adie sounds like an evil villain who is about to say “So we meet again”

  What’s up fucking douche

  That’s when fate decides to kick me in the balls. Her name pops up on G-chat. The little green dot next to her name illuminates my screen like an unholy lighthouse beacon. From time to time I see her there. I’m always set to offline so it doesn’t matter. She never knows I’m on, and I’m at the point where I barely notice her presence. Whatever love I ever bore her is long gone. I don’t even know if it was love to be honest. It was more relief, like at last someone gave two shits about me. I tagged after Adie, went halfway around the world because she acted like I mattered, and I was addicted to the feeling.

  But there needs to be more to a relationship than that.

  I know that now.

  With some perspective, I wasn’t the right guy for her. I liked her, but I don’t think I ever cared enough about who she actually was as a person. I appreciated her beauty, and her violin talent captivated me. She was my opposite. I coveted her bright cheer like dragon gold, but was less interested in who she was beneath the shine. We had so little in common and wanted different lives.

  In a kind, just world, we’d have simply broken up. For a time, I’d have hurt, but I’d have moved on. Instead, we screwed up, skipped a condom, only once, but enough to be taught the hardest lesson in my goddamn life. I got her pregnant. Our disintegrating relationship crumbled to dust under the weight of this thing we’d done. I tried to give it a last shot, pile the rubble into something that could shelter us. I might have been the wanker who got her pregnant, but I wasn’t going to abandon her. Or force a choice.

  I was ready to step up and be there if that’s what she wanted, because I know how bad it sucks to be an unwelcome kid. From the first second I heard, I made a conscious choice. I’d want this child. No matter whether or not I was pretty much a kid myself.

  So I did.

  I wanted it right until the day I came home to find Adie with someone else, exactly when she knew I’d arrive. Because she knew she had to hurt me that bad to make me leave.

  I might not have taken the time to know her in the right way. But that girl understood enough about me.

  When she said she’d aborted the baby without telling me, I didn’t question. I was too angry. I ignored all the signs she was lying. Because she wanted the baby too.

  After Adie hunted me down in Australia last year, I thought I’d reached some sort of peace. What I found was Talia, who brought me love and a calm I hadn’t ever experienced. But I learned the hard way, when Jessie was in labor, that the wound of what happened hadn’t fully healed. It had festered to the point where the ache was dull, low, throbbing, and I lived with it day in and day out. I grew used to it. Never even noticed. Or at least pretended I didn’t.

  I don’t think I owe Adie a hell of a lot. But I owe her this, to check in. We made a bad choice together. Yes, she lied, but she also paid a higher price.

  She’s there. If I write to her, she’ll see it straightaway. These aren’t butterflies in my stomach. They are ants, marching through my guts on relentless tiny feet.

  Shit. This was a bad idea.

  Hi Adie,

  Shit. “Been thinking about how I got you pregnant and the shit storm that followed” isn’t really a great lead-in.

  I recently experienced a situation that made me think about what happened between us, and to you. I want to say, for what it’s worth, that I am sorry I wasn’t there. That I wasn’t able to help you more. I regret that I wasn’t careful with you. I should never have slept with you without protection. I was a bloody idiot and you paid the price. We weren’t going to work out, but during that time you meant a lot to me. And I’d hate for you to think that I don’t ever think about you, your pregnancy, or what followed. I do. I wish I could have done something to help. I’m ashamed I didn’t. I hope you are well and enjoying life. You deserve it. You deserve every good thing that comes your way.

  Bran

  I slam the computer shut as soon as
I hit send, go for a long run. When I get back, she’s already responded.

  Hello Bran,

  Good to hear from you. I expected an update about your new television career. I admit, this message took me by surprise. You don’t owe me any explanation. I have never blamed you. You aren’t the only one who made mistakes. I lied to you and that was wrong on every level. We were young and stupid. It took me time, but I have found peace with what happened and wish you the same. Thank you for writing. Despite the angry words I said in the past, you’re a good guy. I’m glad you were my first.

  xxx A

  I read her words again, You’re a good guy.

  I’m trying to be. I really am trying.

  The exchange wasn’t much. It was fuck all really, but I’m lighter. The choking guilt releases its stranglehold. Quite possibly I won’t ever talk to Adie again. There’s no reason. But I’m glad I did this. I needed her to know that our shared history affected me. Last year when she came to Melbourne, I don’t think I ever gave her that. I was in too much shock. Now she knows. Now I can move on. The wound can heal.

  There’s only one thing to do with the past—learn from it.

  * * *

  Turns out Talia rocked her interview. She was the only one surprised. Within a week, the radio station invited her into the city for a face-to-face. She drove to San Francisco for the day. Scott and Jessie are still at the hospital with Wyatt. The little guy is strong, putting on the right amount of weight. He needs to learn to feed on his own before they let him come home. Meanwhile, I’m on pet patrol because there’s no one else to feed the animals. The minute I head to the kitchen, a parade of dogs and cats follow me. I’m bloody Dr. Dolittle. There’s distant scuffling from the veranda. Chester. Whatever is happening out there is straight-up Island of Dr. Moreau.

  That horny furball is a mutant freak.

  I’ve taken the dogs for a run and rubbed down the cats with more affection than I’d like to admit. What can I say, for having not grown up with animals, the whole pet ownership thing isn’t half-bad. The idea of simple domesticity with Talia, our own place, the whole kit, sounds a bit like heaven.

  My phone rings. I wonder how her interview went?

  I check the number and it’s unlisted. “Hello?”

  “Mate.”

  I straighten at the Russian accent. “Sander? What’s up?”

  “Z.”

  “Right. Not gonna lie, that new name is going to take some getting used to.”

  “Work on it.”

  “Noted. So, you’ve called me. Obviously you want to discuss more than your name changes?”

  “I do, Lockhart. I want your answer.”

  “About the job?” I fiddle with the living room blind. The street outside is empty. “I told you, I’m waiting for Talia.”

  “Patience isn’t one of my virtues.”

  I prop the phone against my shoulder with my ear and shove my hands in my pockets. “Dude, I got to say, I’m excited about the offer, but it’s not like Zavtra Tech is reliant on application development. That shit’s hardly going to be a money earner.”

  “No.”

  “Why the rush?”

  “I never rush.”

  I like Sander—Z—and appreciate his eccentricities, but sometimes the dude makes me want to punch a hole in drywall.

  “Good. So I’ll let you know as soon as Talia decides what she wants to do.”

  “You run your life based on what she wants?” He sounds incredulous.

  “We make decisions together.”

  “How egalitarian.” His smirk carries through the phone.

  “Out of curiosity, do you ever unwind? Leave the office? Chase a little skirt around Stanford?”

  “That would be no.”

  “Anyone special at work?” Je-sus, I sound like a talk show host or some shit. Still, Z needs to get laid more than most guys I’ve ever seen and he seemed keen on Beth.

  “I want you at Zavtra Tech, Lockhart. Like I told you before, I don’t have many people I can trust. You are a rare exception.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a curse or a compliment.”

  “Neither am I.” Z gives his first genuine laugh. The one that reminds me of the late nights we’d spend talking shit in our boarding room.

  It’s not until I hang up I realize he’s avoided the question.

  My phone rings back immediately. Unlisted. Doesn’t Z have a multimillion dollar company to run? Why is he playing mind games?

  “Fucking hell, what now,” I say into the phone.

  “Brandon Lockhart, I presume?” The woman’s brisk voice in unfamiliar. The accent Australian.

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Janet Rogers, your father’s personal assistant, and he’s requested I put you through for a call.”

  “I’m guessing I don’t get a yes or no in the matter.”

  “Popping you through now.”

  “Great, Janet.” Just bloody great.

  I’ve got an intense Russian breathing down my neck for me to make a move. Now Dad’s in the mix?

  “Spunk?” That’s not Dad.

  “Gabbles?” My older sister, Gaby.

  “Hey, mate. You’re alive. Long time no talk.” Her laughter is pure passive-aggressive.

  “Dad there?”

  “Yeah, he’s wrapping up another call on his mobile. We didn’t expect to get through. You don’t have the best track record at answering the phone.”

  “Well, you did.”

  “How’s America?”

  “American.”

  “Talia hasn’t strangled you yet?”

  I grit my teeth. “She finds me charming.”

  “Hah hah.” Gaby means well, but she’s as sensitive as sandpaper up the ass. I guess you had to get a bit rough around the edges to survive in our house. It wasn’t exactly a place bursting with soft affection.

  “How ’bout you, the girls?”

  “We’re good. They miss you.”

  “Jockey come around much?” Her wanker ex-husband was a former jockey who traded in horses to ride socialites all around town.

  There’s a pause. “He has scheduled visits.”

  “That good?”

  Another pause, followed by a sigh. “No, but the girls need a father.”

  Do they? Do any of us?

  “Brandon?” Dad joins the conversation in his typical impatient fashion, as if I’m the one who’s kept him waiting.

  “Hey.”

  “G’day. Good to hear your voice, mate.”

  “Yeah, well. It’s been a bit, yeah?” Fucking hell, I’m mumbling like a kid.

  “I reckon. Set to come home?”

  “To Melbourne?” Good thing they can’t see me recoil.

  “He knows, Bran,” Gaby cuts in. “He knows you’re staying in California for now.”

  “But perhaps you’d consider returning for a short stint,” Dad pushes back. “The iron is hot to ramp up some promotion for the foundation. What with the visibility from your upcoming show, the publicity is free advertising. I’ve put calls in with all our contacts—”

  “Hold up. What are we talking about?”

  “Told you he wouldn’t be into it,” Gaby says in her know-it-all tone.

  “Into what?” I am in the dark and don’t like it.

  “The foundation is fielding loads of media requests about you. The Age, The Australian. Papers from London, Canada, and New Zealand. You made a splash. The board wants to take the opportunity to leverage—”

  “No, no way. Not happening.”

  “Son.” His voice has a bite, like what he wants to say is bloody dickhead. “I don’t think you understand—”

  “I understand that I’ve been made a spectacle. That people who have never met me believe I’m something I’m not. Or even worse, think I believe I’m hot shit. I can’t stand for it, Dad. It’s too much.”

  “This is a family foundation, Brandon. We’re well resourced, but this could be an opportunity—”
>
  “Dad, I don’t know how to say this in a way that will make sense to you. So here’s my best stab. No way in hell am I going to be getting in front of a camera and talking about the accident. I didn’t do it with the plane, and I’m not doing it now.”

  “The woman you saved is calling you a hero,” Gaby butts in.

  I blink. “Justine?”

  “The media found her in New Zealand. We got that story into The Age this morning. She says she owes her life to your quick thinking.”

  “Is this a sick joke?” The Age is the prominent paper in Melbourne, one of the biggest in the country. It’s not enough for America to think I’m a wanker. Now everyone at home will know too?

  “People love a hero, baby brother.” Gaby relishes things that make me uncomfortable. She’s always loved playing up the big sister role, poking at me. At the end of the day, she has a good heart, but that’s easy to forget when you’re stuck on the blackberry bramble she’s grown around herself.

  We’re a lot alike actually.

  “Let’s get you a ticket home,” Dad says, like a dog unwilling to release a bone. “Doesn’t need to be long. A month. Maybe three. This visibility comes at the perfect time—”

  “I can’t budge on this. Not without selling myself out. Sorry. But this is a hard no.”

  “You said you were going to help get things off the ground. This is a family endeavor.”

  “You’re right, and I’ve been reading the reports you’ve sent. Sounds like you have things well in hand, and I’m happy to advise where I’m able to give input.” The foundation has set up carbon-trading schemes in a host of developing countries, and is investing in the development of solar-powered generators and solar ovens in the attempt to curb deforestation in the more denuded areas. “I’m not ready to commit full-time to the foundation, but that door’s still open at some point down the road.”

  “I want you on television, SBS, ABC, Channel Ten.”

  “No. No. Fuck no.”

  “And once the show airs, this will be big, Bran. Australians love an underdog,” Gaby says.

  “Look, I can say no in Japanese, Spanish, Portuguese, and French.”

  “Remember the loan I made,” Dad snaps.